Echeyakee
by Keep It Quiet
Summary: What hunter in their right might wouldn't want such a beautiful beast fighting at his side?  Unfortunately, attaining such a pet often comes with consequences.  Rated M for possible later chapters.


Lorian's weary amber eyes finally fell upon Ratchet. His heart somersaulted in his chest. The ride from Ashenvale was not an overly long one, by any means, but damn if it wasn't boring. That, coupled with the fact that the sun beat down on his dark violet skin since he rode over the border into the Barrens, he wanted nothing more than to lay his head on the pommel of the saddle and sleep. This trip had better be worth it! He slowed his saber, Arlan to a walk as they entered the little seaside town. Once he established a base for the night, in the form of a cheap room at the inn, he would go out into the field and claim his prize: the infamous king of the savannah; the white lion Echeyakee.

He couldn't hold back a grin. Strolling into Stormwind with that beautiful cat by his side—he would be the envy of many in the city, especially Aurea. That dwarf boasted a beautiful, unique pet of her own. He was jealous, yes, but that would come to an end after this little trip. Even the strider clutch mother was no comparison to Echeyakee.

At the inn, he had a wonderful time negotiating a price for the smallest room available. He had to admit, there were others better suited for such tasks. He could not bring himself to push the buttons required to haggle successfully with a vendor or, in this case, innkeeper. _That _is exactly why he refused to work with goblins unless absolutely necessary.

"650 for the week," the innkeeper said, drumming his fingers on the wood of his desk. "That's as low as I'm goin' for some Night Elf I ain't ever seen around these parts."

Lorian gaped. "For _that_? It's hardly worth half that price!"

The goblin raised an eyebrow, grinning. "It is to anyone not wantin' to sleep in the plains."

Rubbing his eyes, Lorian scoffed. "You can't just…" Unfortunately, he could not deny it: the innkeeper had a valid point. Normally he loved sleeping outdoors. In fact, he preferred it. However, this was Horde territory. Snoozing in the grass could very easily get him killed. He threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine…"

Once the money was exchanged, the goblin planted a silver key in the elf's outstretched palm. "Enjoy your stay," he said, voice dripping with spiteful arrogance. Lorian fought the urge to tell him to shove it. Doing so may have resulted in some 'extra fees' at the end of his stay. He did not want that, first of all, and second, he really wasn't looking forward to whatever the goblin might have in store for him one it was established that Lorian did not have the extra gold to pay those fees. Biting his tongue was the less irritating option.

He wasted no time unloading his bags; rather, he threw his belongings on the floor in a corner and all but ran back outside to Arlan. The sooner he got moving, the better his chances of finding Echeyakee. So far, he had not encountered any Horde, which was odd. Regardless, that meant less competition. Now seemed to be the perfect time.

Listening to other hunters in Darnassus gave him a good idea on where to search. He never realized how freaking _BIG_ the Barrens actually was. Northwest of the Horde camp, one had said, among kodo bones. That much was easy to comprehend. What he could not figure out was _which _kodo bones he was supposed to check.

The first set revealed nothing. At the second, a Blood Elf rogue ambushed him. He normally preferred to avoid combat where possible. Given the choice, he would much rather ignore the opposite faction. She, however, did not present him that option. It would be a while before she could harass anyone else. He was not as proud of that as he probably should have been; he was above hitting women, even of those of the Horde, thank you very much. However, this time it was unavoidable. At least now, she would leave him the hell alone.

Third time seemed to be the charm. Beside a mountain, bones littered the dusty ground. These were quite a bit larger than the others he had come across. All around, female cats meandered about, minding their own business in the shade of a massive tree, and a few cubs bounced around in mock combat with one another.

Lorian hid his mount beside a hill near the bones. Slowly, he crept over the rough terrain, careful of sticks, rocks, and the like. He peered at the bones, expecting to see that beautiful ivory cat sunning himself as he watched over his pride…only to find absolutely nothing. Again.

Maybe he was chasing a ghost. Perhaps Echeyakee was only a tale, a fib told to young hunters as some sort of test. Lorian frowned. If that was the case, he knew he had failed…whatever it was they were testing. The hunters back in Darnassus had to be laughing their asses off at him.

Frustrated to all hell and back, the elf kicked a small stump to his left. So much for taming his dream pet. He could forget about finally winning Aurea's envy. He leaned against the rock face beside him, glancing idly toward the stump he…kicked…

That was _not_ a stump. That was a totem.

Every nerve shot to alert. He whipped around toward his mount—coming face-to-face with a particularly smug looking troll. Crimson eyes narrowed at the elf. Flame-red hair fell in strands over the shaman's face, flopping to one side on his head. Long, thick tusks curved down from smirking lips, aimed right at Lorian's heart. The basic brown shirt he wore hung open, exposing part of a tattoo on his strong chest, as well as the chiseled muscles of his belly. Lorian pointedly stared at the ink, avoiding those arrogant eyes.

The troll's deep voice murmured to him. The hunter's brain scrambled to translate, though he knew he couldn't even if he really wanted to, and he slowly held up his hands, painfully aware that his daggers and bow were safely in his bag. Strapped on Arlan. "I…I'm sorry," he said quietly. Lorian had had his fill of combat with that rogue earlier. His muscles ached, and his head throbbed. There was absolutely _zero_ motivation to pick a fight with the troll. He took a nervous step back.

The troll grabbed the front of his shirt, pressing their faces close together. His tusks bumped Lorian's chest. More Orcish, or Zandali, or whatever else trolls spoke, barked at him. Scarlet eyes regarded him crossly. Lorian shook his head, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find a reply. "I…I don't understand…" He glanced back at the bones shortly, biting his lip, before he dared staring at the shaman. "Please, just leave me be! I'll go back to Ratchet. I promise, just…Just let me go. I don't want any trouble here. I only came for Echeyakee…"

The shaman started suddenly, tilting his head to the side curiously. The name must have caught his attention. For a moment, he simply blinked those wide red eyes. He glanced toward the kodo bones, and a devious smirk crossed his lips. With his free hand, he rifled through the bag at his hip, producing a small curved horn. He held it just out of Lorian's reach, slowly repeating, "Echeyakee."

The elf's eyes went wide. So, the cat had to be _called_? Three empty bone piles suddenly made sense. He knew what he had to do.

With determination anew, Lorian shoved at the troll's chest, catching him off guard. The hand on his shirt released in favor of flailing around for some sort of purchase on the terrain around us. He stretched toward the horn—

-and suddenly found himself face-first into a huge rock.

A warm weight pressed tight against his back. The troll chuckled softly in his ear, murmuring under his breath. Though Lorian still could not understand the words, he suppressed a shiver. Surely, whatever the troll said was anything but cheerful. Lorian sputtered and shoved backwards.

The troll grabbed one arm, yanking it behind the elf's back. Lorian glanced over his shoulder, first at the discarded horn lying in the grass near their feet, and then at his captor. Tusks rested lightly on his shoulder, the troll's breath hot on his neck. The scent of tobacco and mageroyal was thick, sweet, and it seemed to be all over him. Lorian always expected trolls to stink; many of the ones he encountered in Stranglethorn reeked something fierce. This one, though—if he was not so worried about his life at the moment, he might have admitted that he rather enjoyed his scent.

Now was not the time.

Lorian shoved off the rock with every ounce of strength in his one arm. The troll held tight to his wrist, but he took a few clumsy steps backward. Lorian had to use this to his advantage. Swinging one leg behind the troll's, he braced as the shaman stepped into his trap and tumbled to the ground. Unfortunately, he never once released his hold, dragging the hunter down with him. Lorian landed hard on his lap, earning a loud grunt of pain from the other. The troll recovered swiftly, though, as Lorian soon found himself on his belly in the grass. One of his hands held both of the elf's wrists to his lower back.

"Let me GO!" the elf hollered at him, his demand muffled slightly by the dirt. A soft chuckle rumbled from the troll's broad chest, and he ran his free hand over Lorian's contorted shoulders. He straddled the elf's hips, leaving only a tiny bit of room between their bodies.

More of that strange language poured from his lips, and suddenly, he released the hunter's arms. That confused him at first, but Lorian did not dwell on it. He rolled himself over, swinging one tight fist at the troll's face. The grin the other wore startled him, though. That troll was not afraid of his punch at _all. _Instead, Lorian walked right into a trap of his own. His arms were suddenly slammed into the ground above his head. The troll pinned them with one hand again, despite Lorian's renewed struggling, and he leaned close to the elf's face. In an oddly gentle move, he nuzzled Lorian's cheek, purring words that sounded soothing into his ear.

"Please…" the hunter pleaded weakly, turning into his neck. "Let me go. I won't come back here, I swear."

"Shh…" The troll lifted his head. Deep red eyes narrowed wickedly, and he licked his lips. Lorian heard the distinct slide of fabric on fabric. Not a moment later, he looped his belt around the elf's wrists and pulled tight to knot it. A small tail was left hanging loose. Lorian tugged and pulled, desperately trying to free himself, to no avail. Apparently, that damn troll knew what he was doing. Unfortunately.

Panic radiated through him. He had heard so many horror stories about the Horde; some of them made Lorian sick to his stomach. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the hunter screamed for help. His brothers and sisters in the Alliance often passed through the Barrens; the elf prayed that at least one of them was close enough to hear. He was stupid, so stupid, going out there alone. He should have kept his wolf at his side.

The last thing he remembered was a wooden club speeding towards his head, and the troll's haughty face glaring angrily at him.


End file.
